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smallstepsmadpotepotriemantheartfulcodgerscogterransvoice
The Postman cometh


He first read the story
In his good old Sunday Times
About costumed volunteers
Helping fight American crime.
He got ten thousand stamps
Stuck directly to his skin
And the pair of lycro shorts
Used to keep his gentiles in.
The whole outfit very tastefully
Finished by a full length cape
Secured at throat and waist
By strips of velcroed tape.

They showed him on TV,
Very nearly his undoing,
For his ex wife was watching
As she sipped her Mother's Ruin.
He made her his assistant
And she did look rather cute
In her vintage Mary Quant
Tight Powder Blue cat suit.
For a little while
They did cause fear

For the criminals never knew
Just where they would appear.
But the trouble with postage stamps
Is that they aren't really very strong
And the Post Office used glue
Doesn't really last for very long;
And when their price increased
Way above the inflation rate
It meant their sad loss to a largely
Ignorant and ungrateful State.

They're still together now
Spending nights giving
After dinner speeches
To make a jolly decent living.
If there's a moral to this story,
There's not a thing in life
Can defeat a decent man
With his supportive wife:
Or, maybe, every Sabbath
Can be turned into a fun day
If one only goes and buys
The good old Times on Sunday.

Note: Mother's Ruin - Dickensian slang for Gin







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